A Piece of Tenderness
by Kerttu
Summary: Postmovie, Slash, my Timeline verse where Sands is blind. Tenderness cuts deep.


Title: A piece of tenderness

Author: Kerttu

Pairing: Sands/El

Rating: M to be on the safe side

Disclaimer: As if anyone could own these guys!

Summary: Post-movie; tenderness cuts deep, my Timeline universe where Sands is blind.

AN: All remaining mistakes are mine. Bows to Maureen for being the veritable spring of naughty ideas, to Vanillafluffy for being the sounding board and to mystorymydream for sending me pictures of Salma.

…you are a piece of glass left there on the beach…. (U2)

Red passion.

Dark obsession and a twisted mind, blacker still.

Lightning-white release.

Red, black, white.

These were the colours of their love.

Or at least 'fucking' as Sands always wanted to stress, since he never loved. Never that.

But he wanted, needed, craved.

Wanted to forget, needed feeling needed and craved pleasure – from flesh or from drugs, he didn't discriminate.

He never wanted tenderness but when that was forced on him he revelled in it and thus he did need it and need it badly.

He also craved some luxury and forced El to deliver it. Sometimes it was a taste he craved and then limes and strawberries and chocolate were in agenda asap. Sometimes he needed sounds, sometimes he wanted smells – and oh did he laugh when El had to ask the location of the closest flower-shop or bakery.

Sometimes he wanted a touch.

Then the hated tenderness attacked him.

He went through all El's belongings, the clothes of the late Carolina as well and came upon an unbelievably soft piece that turned out to be a bath robe. El told him – when he had learned to talk again after seeing Sands lounge in that robe on his bed – that it was deep red and one of the last things Carolina had bought. And that Sands looked so much like a-

That was the moment when Sands hit El but it did not stop him wanting the mariachi.

Visibly so.

El indulged him but this time so sweetly and tenderly that it made his toes curl and Sands spit with venom in order not to cry.

He could not give the robe up, though. And each time he wore it, El wanted to be tender and he always managed, even if it meant tying Sands up first.

Which brought on the present situation: leather around his wrists and the weight of the man holding him in an inferno of pleasure. Each time El moved, it was slow and strong and so fucking good that Sands felt like dying.

He fought as much as he could, he had wanted a good quick shag but El was taking his time and taking him along into a ride that was most likely going to totally undo him.

He tried and tried, the leather biting his wrists, and then El moved somehow differently and the universe exploded. And it was colourful like rainbows and candy wrappers and opium dreams all rolled into one.

When Sands recovered, he was held close, untied and he realised that his face was wet (he had not known he still could cry) and he felt turned inside out and worn to tatters.

El – wisely – didn't say anything. Only held him like a solid example of loyalty and scorching desire.

Before Sands could come up with anything vicious to say to counteract the sweetness of the moment, the exhaustion from the crucifying satisfaction got him and he fell asleep.

El held Sands and just looked at him in his arms.

Deep red had always made Carolina glow with inner fire but on Sands it seemed to leech out all the colours and this left him somehow transparent and vulnerable like a silhouette cut out of silk paper – thin and easy to rip to pieces…

Frail but incredibly beautiful.

And he had come very close this time to ripping the man into pieces all over again. But he did look so… vulnerable in that robe and El could not just stop his reaction of tenderness. This always brought on a fight and then subduing and then… Sands in his arms, drained of energy, venomous but utterly relaxed.

This time he had cried out, shuddered and broken down with violent sobs when El undid the leather sling and pulled him closer.

Perhaps they should not do tender anymore… however much that thought hurt El inside.

When Sands woke, he was still in El's arms. Odd thing was that he felt good and safe – the two things he had not felt ever. It made him shudder and El reacted to that, shifting slightly even closer.

"Are you awake?"

Sands grunted an affirmative.

The Mexican "About the last…"

"Yeah?"

"Perhaps we should not do it anym-"

"Nuh-no. I think I am getting a hang of this lovey-dovey stuff now." Sands turned around and burrowed closer to the man. "Also – I like the bloody bath robe too much. I think I will keep that, and you, and everything that comes with it."

He felt El smile and relaxed.

Perhaps tenderness was not so bad after all. If El could do it, so could he.


End file.
